" Dum. Sir, I pray you a word: what lady is that fame? Boyet. The heir of Alanfon, Rosaline her name. Dum. A gallant lady; Monfieur, fare you well. [Exit. Long. I befeech you a word: what is fhe in white † ? Boyet. She is an heir of Faulconbridge ‡. Long. She is a moft fweet lady. Boyet. Not unlike, Sir; that may be . [Exit Long. Boyet. A woman fometimes, if you faw her in the light. Long. Perchance light in the light. I defire her name. If [Exit. Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to defire that were a shame. Long. Pray you, Sir, whofe daughter? Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. Lang. God's bleffing on your beard! Boyet. Good Sir, be not offended. Beyet. Farewel to me, Sir, and welcome to you. [Exit, Biron. Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord; Not a word with him but a jeft. Boyet. And every jeft but a word. Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boyet. And wherefore not thips? No fheep, (fweet lamb), unless we feed on your lips. Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; fhall that finish the jest ? 24 Boyet. If my obfervation, (which very feldom lyes), Rof. Thou art an old love-monger, and speakest fkilfully. Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news of him. Rof. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father is but grim. Boyet. Do you hear, my Mar. No. mad wenches? Boyet. What then? do you fee? Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. My lips are no common, though feveral they be. Boyet. Belonging to whom? Mar. To my fortunes and me. Prin. Good wits will be jangling; but, gentles, agree. This civil war of wits were much better us'd On Navarre and his book-men; for here 'tis abus'd. is infected. Prin. With what? Boyet. With that which we lovers intitle affected. Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire Who tend'ring their own worth, from whence they were glafs'd, His faces' own margent did quote fuch amazes, An' you give him for my fake but one loving kiss. Boyet. But to fpeak that in words which ais eye hath disclos'd; I only have made a mouth of his eye, By adding a tongue which I know will not lye. Rof. Thou art, &c. VOL. II. Boyet. You are too hard for me. Rof. Ay, our way to be gone. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Arm. The park, near the palace. Enter Armado and Moth. WArble, Arble, child; make paffionate my sense of hearing. Moth. Concolinel [Singing. Arm. Sweet air! go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the fwain; bring him festinately hither: I must employ him in a letter to my love. Moth. Mafter, will you win your love with a French brawl? Arm. How mean'ft thou, brawling in French? Moth. No, my compleat Mafter; but to jig off a tune at the tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids; figh a note and fing a note; fometimes through the throat, as if you fwallow'd love with finging love; fometimes through the nose, as if you fnuff'd up love by smelling love; with your hat penthoufe like, o'er the fhop of your eyes; with your arms cross'd on your thin-belly doublet, like a rabbet on a fpit; or your hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip, and away: thefe are 'complishments, these are humours; these betray nice wenches that would be betray'd without thefe, and make them men of note (do you note me?) that are moft affected to these? Arm. How haft thou purchas'd this experience? Moth. By my pen of observation. Arm. But O, but O Moth. The hobby-horfe is forgot *. Arm. Call'st thou my love hobby-horfe? Moth. No, Mafter; the hobby-horfe is but a colt, and your love perhaps a hackney: but have you forgot your love? Arm. Almoft I had. The burthen of an old fong. Moth Moth. Negligent ftudent! learn her by heart. Moth. And out of heart, Master: all those three I will prove. Arm. What wilt thou prove? Moth. A man, if I live: and this by in, and out of, upon the instant: by heart you love her, because your heart cannot come by her; in heart you love her, because your heart is in love with her; and out of heart you love her, being out of heart that you cannot enjoy her. Arm. I am all these three. Moth. And three times as much more; and yet nothing at all. Arm. Fetch hither the fwain, he muft carry me a letter. Moth. A meffage well fympathiz'd; a horse to be embaffador for an afs. Arm. Ha, ha, what fay'st thou? Moth. Marry, Sir, you must send the afs upon the horse, for he is very flow-gated: but I go. Arm. The way is but fhort; away. Moth. As fwift as lead, Sir. Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious? Is not lead of metal heavy, dull, and flow? Math. Minimè, honest Master; or rather, Master, no. Moth. You are too fwift, Sir, to say so. Is that lead flow, Sir, which is fir'd from a gun ? He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he: Moth. Thump then, and I fly. [Exit. Arm. A moft acute juvenile,voluble, and free of grace; By thy favour, fweet welkin, I muft figh in thy face. Moft rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. My herald is return'd. SCENE II. Re-enter Moth and Coftard *. 1/ Arm. I give thee thy liberty, fet thee from durance; and, in lieu thereof, impofe on thee nothing but this: bear and Coftard. Moth. A wonder, Mafter; here's a Coftard broken in a fhin. Caft. No egma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no falve in the male, Sir. O Sir, plantan, a plain plantan; no l'envy, no l'envoy, or falve, Sir, but plantan.. Arm. By virtue, thou enforceft laughter; thy filly thought, my Spleen; the heaving of my lungs provokes me to ridiculous fmiling; O pardon me, my ftars! doth the inconfiderate take falve for l'envoys and the word l'envoy for a falve? Mob. Doth the wife think them other? is not l'envoy a falve? Some obfcure procedence that hath tofore been sain. I will example it. Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow with my l'envy. The fox, the ape, and the humble bee, Were ftill at odds, being but three. There's the moral, now the l'envoy. Motb. I will add the l'envoy; fay the moral again. Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble bee, Were fill at odds, being but three. Moth. Until the goofe came out of door, And ftay'd the odds by adding four. A good l'envoy, ending in the goofe; would you defire more? Sir, your pennyworth is good, an' your goofe be fat. To fell a bargain well is as cunning as fast and loose. Let me tee a fat l'envoy; I, that's a fat goofe. Arm. Come hither, come hither; How did this argument begin? Math. By faying, that a Coftard was broken in a shin. Then call'd you for a l'envoy. Coft True, and I for a plantan; Thus came the argument in; Then the boy's fat l'envoy, the goofe that you bought, And he ended the market. Arm. But tell me, how was there a Costard broken in a hint Coft. Theu, haft no feeling of it, Moth. I will fpeak that l'envoy Coftard running out, that was fafely within, Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. Ceft |